The Jedi transport slipped through the canopy haze with a low, steady hum. Repulsors stirred the morning mist into long silver ribbons that curled over the treetops and drifted across the shoreline. When the ship eased down onto the sand, it settled with the calm grace of a metal bird folding its wings. Salt air rushed across the hull, mixing with the deep, damp scent of the forest rising behind the beach.
Carruck stood at the front of the honor guard, chest broad, stance firm, his braids pulled tight and threaded with polished clan beads that chimed softly when the wind pushed through them. Warriors lined up on both sides of him—tall, quiet figures marked by hunt-earned wscars and heavy carved armor. Every one of them radiated the focus of seasoned fighters holding a ceremony. Carruck's place at the front felt natural. He carried the respect of the clan, and he was the father of the cubs the Jedi had come for.
The transport's ramp lowered with a smooth hiss.
Master Yoda stepped down first. Sand pressed gently around his feet as he leaned on his cane, the breeze tugging lightly at his cloak. Depa Billaba followed, her steps sure, robe brushing the warm air that rolled off the sea.
Yoda lifted his gaze up—far up—at the towering line of Wookiees. A flicker of recognition stirred in him. It had been close to a century since he'd last stood among this clan. Generations had shifted. Elders he'd known had passed their places to new faces. Yet the feeling carried forward, steady and familiar.
Carruck pressed a paw to his chest, a warrior's greeting. The entire line echoed him, their combined rumble spreading out like a deep drumbeat across the shore.
Yoda lifted his hand in return, the motivational clean and respectful.
"Honor to your hearth," he said, the old Wookiee phrase easing from memory with surprising ease.
The honor guard guided the Jedi along the woven bridges and broad platforms, the village flowing around them with its usual rhythm. Hunters hauling nets of river fish crossed paths with artisans carving bowcasters, while elders sorted fresh resin bundles beneath the shadow of great wroshyr limbs. Life moved with that steady Wookiee certainty—every task done with purpose, every gesture carrying weight.
Carruck walked beside Yoda and Depa, his steps heavy but sure. When they understood he was the twins' father, the shift in the Force came naturally. His conviction radiated through each breath. He held the truth close: if the Jedi chose his children, he would let them go. Yoda felt that clarity immediately. Depa felt it too, a steady warmth shaped like quiet acceptance.
Had the family already settled this in their hearts? the Jedi wondered.
Yoda's choice to speak with the elders first showed its value now; the path felt smoother with every step toward the village center.
Offhand, as they moved, the Jedi continued their subtle assessments. These early checks required little—just gentle brushes of the Force. Even toddlers responded in small ways. A cub's eyes might track a ripple of energy. A paw might tighten around a wooden bead when a thought brushed across their awareness. Sometimes a child leaned toward the presence of another's emotions, sensing intent before it formed into action. These tests unfolded quietly, woven into conversation and footsteps, never breaking the natural pace of the walk.
And through it all, Carruck remained at their side—father, warrior, and anchor—his presence telling the Jedi as much as any test ever could.
As the Jedi walked beside the honor guard, the forest opening into wider rings of woven pathways ahead, a quiet truth from the Order's ancient history settled beneath the moment. For generations, the Jedi gathered children at the earliest feasible age because their entire philosophy depended on shaping a mind before attachments set deep roots and the dark side found easy purchase.
The Code taught calm before emotion, clarity before impulse, and service before desire.
A toddler still lived in pure instinct—curiosity unanchored, identity still forming. Those years carried a softness that aligned with the Jedi ideal:
"There is no emotion, there is peace."
Emotion still surged, yet training turned that surge toward awareness and reflection rather than reaction.
"There is no passion, there is serenity."
Ambition arrived later in life; early learners soaked in steady practice until serenity felt like the natural baseline.
"There is no ignorance, there is knowledge."
Young minds reached for patterns and answers; the Order poured meditation, study, and connection to the Force into that hunger before prejudice or clan rivalry framed the galaxy.
"There is no chaos, there is harmony."
Children accepted change with ease. Guided correctly, that flexibility merged with a sense of unity, a feeling that every life and every choice fit within a greater balance.
"There is no death, there is the Force."
When teachers introduced this truth early, students learned to see endings as transformation rather than loss, which dulled the fear that fed anger and despair.
History had shown the Council a consistent pattern: the older the initiate, the heavier the shadows they carried—family bonds, grief, duty to home, private dreams of power or recognition. Those fault lines offered the dark side places to whisper: promises to protect loved ones at any cost, to avenge old wounds, to secure futures gripped too tightly.
So the Order forged a simple, unwavering practice. Reach out early. Invite children while identity still stood in its first scaffolding. Give them a life where discipline, compassion, and balance grew from the beginning, instead of trying to uproot loyalties and fears already fixed in place.
That philosophy walked with Yoda and Depa as they followed Carruck's honor guard toward the village center—a silent, enduring reason behind every early knock on a family's door across the Republic.
Eventually they reached the village center where platforms widened around a great hearth and the air carried smoke, salt, and sap. The elders waited there with the clan chieftain, Varraak seated among them, and Asharra sat nearby with the cubs tumbling at her feet.
Carruck and the honor guard took their places. Yoda and Depa sat opposite the elders, and talk moved straight to purpose. The terms came together with the same clean simplicity as a battle plan: the cubs would be tested, and if they showed the right strength in the Force, they would leave with the Jedi.
Yoda traded a small, genuine smile with Varraak. He remembered the Wookiee from another age—once a cub with oversized paws and a voice that shook the leaves when he laughed. Yoda had passed through every few generations, long enough to watch Varraak grow from eager youth to steady leader. Seeing an old friend again among so much change felt grounding, especially one whose honesty always landed like a firm hand on the shoulder.
The cubs, meanwhile, wrestled in the center of the platform, swatting and shoving and snarling in playful bursts, far more interested in each other than in the robed off-worlders. What finally drew every gaze was their fur. One cub white as fresh ash-wood, every strand bright and clean. The other black as deep space between stars, dark enough that light seemed to fold against it. The elders had mentioned their colors, yet seeing them together like that carried a different weight.
A thought moved through the group, almost shared: there are no coincidences, there is the Force.
Yoda and Depa exchanged a brief look, a small tightening at the eyes, a shared sense that this pair deserved very close attention. In all of Yoda's long life, he had never heard of twin Wookiees born in such mirrored colors.
Depa lifted a hand and beckoned. The twins bounded over without hesitation, claws scrabbling lightly on the wood. Halfway there, their focus snapped to Yoda—more precisely, to the gnarled cane in his grip. Determination lit their eyes. They surged the last few steps with that single goal in mind.
"Energetic, these two," Yoda murmured, ears tilting with quiet amusement.
Laughter rolled through the elders and warriors alike, low and warm, as the strange, beautiful cubs crowded in around the ancient Master.